


half with each other, but mostly without.

by pangrammatic



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 22:09:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11299842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangrammatic/pseuds/pangrammatic
Summary: set nebulously mid-series 4 (somewhere after 404, but before the end of 407). patsy struggles with being brave.





	half with each other, but mostly without.

She reaches for your hand in the cool darkness of the cinema. It catches you unawares - you’re engrossed in the film - so, for a moment, you let your guard down, let her prying fingers slip across your palm, intertwining with your own. Then a ripple of laughter breaks out around you, merely a reaction to the film, but it’s enough to remind you of where you are, making your breath suddenly catch in your throat and your hand jerk away as it retreats back into the safety of your own lap. You feel red, hot, embarrassed warmth rise in your cheeks, and you don’t even dare steal a glance at Delia, knowing that her eyes will be cast down in disappointment and sadness, and you can’t bear to see that you’ve let her down.

 

 

You've seen that look on her face before, in so many moments where she’s quietly reached out to you - in crowded cafes and on the top deck of the bus and whilst sharing chips on the beach at Southend - and you’ve slipped your hand away a millisecond before her fingers can make contact with yours.

 

Sometimes you wonder how she can be so fearless. You wish you were more like her.

 

———

 

In the midnight half-light of Delia’s bedroom in the nurses’ home, some things are different. Here, you can lazily cocoon each other - hands, arms, eyes relishing this relative freedom. Here, your hands drift hotly along the delicious curve of her hip; cinnamon freckles float there on milky softness, and she is dimples and blue, blue eyes beneath you. You know you’d do anything to protect her, to protect this, but even so your heart flutters and aches when you swallow the sound of her moans into shushes and hungry kisses. She is heaven beneath you, but you’re all too aware that this is all so fragile, she could so easily tumble from your hands and shatter.

 

She needs you to be brave, as you have been so many times in your life before, but you’re realising that, where Delia’s concerned, you just don’t know how - not when the memory of Mr Amos’ anguish still smoulders uncomfortably in your mind. You’ve lost so much already. The thought of losing her, too, is just -

 

———

 

You have to get off the bus two stops before her on the way home. Her goodbye is tight and tense - no dimple in her smile, no attempt to discretely squeeze your fingers as you stand up to leave. You try a smile and a small wave at her through the window as the bus pulls away, but you only see the back of her head, the neat bun, head turned away from you. A drizzling rain meets you as you head in the direction of Nonnatus, and you feebly pull your coat more tightly around yourself. Perhaps you’re losing her, anyway.


End file.
